Buffy walked through the cemetery, as usual, trying to stay enthusiastic about patrol. She huddled in her own leather jacket, not the one Angel had given her long ago, and shivered.
"Stupid Hellmouth," Buffy swore. "This is California. It’s not suppose to snow."
Clomping through two foot drifts, Buffy surveyed the empty cemetery. Headstones rose eerily from the blanket of white. She shivered again. "I swear, I’m the only one dumb enough to be out here."
Extending her senses, the Slayer tried to ascertain if any vampires, or anyone else for that matter, was around. Silence.
Puzzled, Buffy followed the voice as silently as she could, given the state of the ground. Finally, she saw someone in a relatively desolate section of the cemetery.
Stopping far enough away as not to be noticed, Buffy watched as the darkly clad figure pushed a ball of snow. The nearly full moon chose that moment to peek out from behind dark clouds.
Buffy would recognize that shock of peroxide blond anywhere. She was about to call out to the vampire, furious that he’d returned to Sunnydale, again, but something made her stop.
Instead, the Slayer stood in the shadows, leaning casually against a tree, and watched her mortal enemy. She had to cover her mouth so as not to laugh out loud as Spike went into a litany of curses.
"Oh, come on, you pillock. Move," Spike said, pushing the heavy mound of snow onto another one. Grunting in accomplishment, he bent again to create the final portion.
Buffy giggled silently as Spike stood back and admired his work. She saw him dip into the pockets of his long, leather duster and pull out a few objects. As soon as they were added to the creation, Buffy made her presence known.
"Hey there, Spike," she said, sauntering towards the vampire.
Spike’s eyes widened comically and he swore again.
With another giggle, the Slayer walked to him and looked at the finished product. "Nice snowman…er, snowvamp, that is," she said, noticing the pair of black, plastic fangs.
Spike just stared at her, mortified.
"So, this is what vampires do in their spare time," Buffy said, gesturing to the snowman. "Play in the snow."
"Oh, piss off," Spike said, shoving his hands forcefully into his pockets and stomping away.
Buffy could have sworn his face was red.
Catching up to the vamp, she paced herself with his long strides. "Why are you back? Again?" Spike ignored her as they left the cemetery. "And where’s your skanky ho?" Buffy asked looking around for the female vampire. "Still shaggin’ the chaos demon?"
Spike whirled and shot his hand out, grabbing the Slayer by the throat. "Shut. Up."
Dropping his hand, he ran it though his short hair, then pulled out a cigarette. "Sorry," Spike apologized. He lit up.
Buffy rubbed her sore neck and wondered where her next sentence came from. "Are you ok?"
Spike exhaled the smoke, staring up at the dark clouds. "I will be," he answered truthfully.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?’ she asked. Buffy couldn’t believe she was trying to have a civilized conversation with the guy who’d tried to kill her and her friends time and time again. *It’s the snow,* she told herself.
Spike looked at her sharply, his blue eyes piercing hers. "Pretend I care," Buffy told him.
After what seemed like an eternity, Spike answered. "She was no longer mine." He shrugged and puffed on the cigarette. "So I left."
"That must have been harsh," Buffy said softly, understanding. "So, why did you come all the way back up here?’
"Familiarity," Spike said simply. "Except for when that bloody sod was running around, I liked it here. Always a challenge." He inhaled on the cigarette again. "Speaking of the wanker, where is your lap dog?"
Buffy winced. "He’s, uh…well, gone." Spike arched a curious eyebrow at her. "He moved to LA to get away from…his memories."
"Including you," Spike stated.
Buffy looked crestfallen. "Yeah. Including me."
"I always knew he was a stupid prick."
She couldn’t believe what Spike just said. "Wh-what?"
"Only an insensitive pillock would voluntarily give up his claim to you," Spike said with a furious tone in his voice.
"Did…did you just compliment me?" Buffy asked incredulously.
Spike looked her over, from her red nose to snow-covered boots, then shrugged. "You’re everything a man could want in a mate," he told her. "You’re beautiful, smart, quick-witted, a great fighter and I’d wager you’re a very passionate lover."
Buffy blushed, her face matching the color of her nose. She tried to think of a comeback, but could only stand there gaping at him.
Spike shot her a wry grin, then offered his arm. "Walk you home?"
Still dumbfounded, the Slayer accepted his arm. They began a leisurely stroll down the streets of Sunnydale. Arriving at the Summers’ residence, Spike stopped them at the end of the driveway. "Here we are."
"Um…thanks, I guess," Buffy said. She dropped his arm and started towards the door. She only made it a few feet when she turned back to him. "I, uh, guess I’ll be seeing you around."
"Count on it, " Spike said, giving her a wicked smile.
Buffy smiled uncertainly, not sure as to how to take his remark. She turned once again and trudged to the house. When she neared the front door, she looked back at Spike.
He was still standing at the end of the driveway, but he was searching the sky as if it held the answers to the universe. Buffy realized she didn’t want him to go.
She was about to invite him in when her eyes caught the fallen snow. With an evil grin, Buffy scooped some up and compacted it between her gloved fingers. "Hey, Spike!"
Spike brought his head down and looked at her. "Yes, pet?"
"Catch!" Buffy yelled. She lobbed the snowball at him, hitting the vampire with a thunk.
Spike looked down at his snowy shirt, then back at the Slayer in time to get hit with another snowball. "I don’t think so, luv," he said, grabbing a handful of snow and retaliating.
Exhilarated, Buffy launched herself into the fight. Running around her front yard, the two mortal enemies were embroiled in a snowball fight to end all others. Both used their supernatural strength when throwing. If they missed, the packed snow seemed to soar forever before hitting the ground with a soft plop.
"Aah! Enough!" Buffy finally called, sinking to her knees from exhaustion. Spike jogged over to the Slayer and flopped down onto the snow in front of her. The cold didn’t bother the vampire one bit.
The clouds had moved on, and Spike lay looking up into the starry sky. Grinning like an idiot, he brought his arms out to his sides and began moving them up and down. He did the same with his legs.
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked.
"What’s it bloody look like?" Spike said with a cheeky grin. "I’m making a snow angel."
Buffy snorted, then covered her mouth embarrassed by the unladylike sound. Spike only laughed at her, then rolled to his feet to look at his creation. He bent and added a halo with his finger.
"You," Spike said, pointing to the snow angel.
"Oh, really?" Buffy said, arching her brow. She rolled to her back and created her own snow angel right next to Spike’s. Standing, she looked at it with an expression of intense concentration, then bent and added to it, as well. "You."
Spike looked down at the lopsided halo and devil’s tail added to the snow angel. His laugher filled the night, rich and full of warmth.
Buffy grinned at him, then gestured to the house. "How’s about a cup of hot chocolate. Mom’s got the little marshmallows she said you like so much."
Spike smiled and offered his arm again. "Why not? I always wanted to live dangerously."
Buffy laughed at his bad joke, and the two mortal enemies went arm in arm into the house.
"So, tell me what Brazil is like," Buffy said, pouring the hot milk in with the chocolate mix. "Seeing as how I’m going to spend my way too short life here in Sunnydale."
"Well, it’s warm," Spike answered, grabbing a handful of mini marshmallows and dropping them in his mug. "At least, I think it was. Can’t really tell in my condition." He gave her a smirk. "Food’s pretty good."
"Ugh, I did not want to hear that," Buffy said, sitting next to him at the island counter.
Spike sighed patiently. "I was talking about the food, Slayer, not the people. I enjoy some of what humans have to offer."
"Really," Buffy said sarcastically. "What’s your favorite food then?"
"Chocolate chip pancakes," Spike answered.
Buffy snorted again, choking on her hot chocolate. Spike rubbed her back to help calm down. "Spike, you are the biggest contradiction I’ve ever laid eyes on," she said once she could speak clearly.
"How’s that, pet?" he asked, taking a sip of his own hot beverage.
"You kill people, yet you build snowmen. You enjoy blood and violence, yet you love completely and with your entire being. You hate Slayers, yet you’re sitting in my kitchen talking about how you love chocolate chip pancakes," Buffy answered. "I just don’t get you."
Spike shrugged. "Not much to get."
Buffy shook her head and sighed. "Why is my life never simple?"
Spike chuckled and finished his chocolate. He grabbed a few more marshmallows and began popping them into his mouth.
"You’re acting like a little kid," Buffy commented, watching his actions.
"Lighten up," Spike said. "Live a little."
"Why? So you can kill me?" Buffy asked.
Spike stopped with his hand partway to his mouth. He frowned, looking past her shoulder and out the window on the kitchen door. "What do you say to another truce?"
"You’ve got to be kidding," Buffy said.
"No, I’m serious," Spike told her. "You don’t kill me, I won’t kill you."
"What about my friends? Or my mom?"
"I’d never kill Joyce," Spike replied, honestly. "I like your mum. She’s got pluck." He shoved another handful of marshmallows in his mouth. "As for your friends, I guess I could agree to that. Well, as long as they don’t attack me first."
"I can’t believe I’m seriously thinking about this," Buffy said. "Again."
"What’s that, pet?"
"Fine. You got a deal," she told him. "I don’t kill you, you don’t kill me or my friends."
"Shake on it?" Spike asked, holding out his hand, while eating with the other. Buffy looked at his hand as if it were a snake, but she finally took it. "That’s a girl. I knew you could do it."
"Bite me," Buffy replied, finishing her own drink.
"With pleasure," Spike answered in a seductive purr, giving her a naughty look.
Buffy blushed heavily and grabbed the empty mugs off the counter. She made a big production out of washing them to give her time to get her bearings. She eventually turned back to Spike, who was still downing the marshmallows as if there were no tomorrow. "Spike, if you eat all those now, there’ll be none left for next time."
Spike grinned at her, then threw some more into his mouth. She rolled her eyes. "Speaking of mums…"
"We were?" Buffy said, taking the bag away from the vampire and closing it up.
Spike gave her an effective pout, then continued. "We were. Where is yours?"
"At the gallery," Buffy replied. "She’s having some shindig which I managed to escape from having to go to."
"What, you don’t like art?"
"Not that art. I’m more into photographs," Buffy said. "Oh, hey! Let me go get my camera and we’ll take a picture of our snow angels." She turned and jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Spike watched her retreating backside, then sighed. He put his head in his hands. "What are you bloody doing, Spike? She’s the Slayer. You hate her." He could hear the sounds of her footsteps returning. "Yeah, then why did you drive all the way back to Sunnyhell from Brazil," he mumbled to himself as Buffy bounced back into the kitchen, Polaroid in hand.
"C’mon, Spike," she said, putting her coat back on and pulling a flashlight out from under the sink. Spike stood and followed the Slayer outside. "Here, hold the light while I take the picture."
Spike did as asked, holding the flashlight high to shine on the two figures immobilized in the snow. He watched as Buffy tried to get far enough back to include both snow angels.
He shook his head. "Slayer, give me the camera."
"Because I bloody asked you to," Spike said. She glared at him, but gave up the camera. "Now, hold the light." Being taller than the blond Slayer, he was able to get both snow angels into the window. "Say cheese," he muttered, and snapped the shutter.
The Polaroid came out and Buffy took it. "Take another."
Spike nodded and pressed the button again. He put this one in his pocket, then motioned to Buffy. "Lay down next to the one on the left," he instructed her. She arched her eyebrow at him. "Just do it," he sighed.
Buffy gave Spike the light, then sank back into the snow. "Maybe if I add a little blood for color," Spike teased. Buffy started to laugh and he snapped the picture.
Joyce pulled into the driveway to see Buffy standing. Exiting the car, she called to her. "Buffy, what are you doing out here so late?"
"Hey, mom," Buffy said, walking up to her with Spike. "Just enjoying the snow."
"Well, that’s a change of attitude. This morning, you’d have thought we moved to Alaska," Joyce said. She turned to Spike. "How are you doing? How’s Dru?"
Spike ducked his head. "We’re not together anymore."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Spike," Joyce said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I know you really cared for her."
Spike nodded as Joyce squeezed his shoulder, then started for the house. "Not too much longer, you two."
"Yes, mom," Buffy said. When her mother had entered the house, she turned to Spike with a puzzled expression.
"I told you I liked your mum," was all that Spike would say.
"I guess I’d better get inside," Buffy said. She took the camera from him. "Thanks for…well, just thanks."
"You’re welcome, Slayer," Spike said. He gave her a small smile, then turned and walked off into the night.
Buffy watched the vampire until he disappeared into the shadows. "Oh, no. My life’s not too complicated."
Spike lay on his bed in his new home. He’d found and taken over an abandoned shop in the business district near the Bronze. It only had windows in the front, and came complete with a full, finished bathroom. It was strange, but Spike didn’t question his luck.
Moving in had been rather easy. He didn’t have any real belongings, just some clothes and his lighter. He stole the rest of the furnishings from someone he’d fed off of, after being invited in to use the phone. Currently, he was proud owner of a double bed and linens, a chest of drawers, a TV and VCR complete with remotes and a few movies, a recliner, floor lamp and an ornate desk.
The desk was his favorite piece of furniture. It reminded him of the one he’d had when he was still human, living with his parents in North London. The dark, cherry wood was carved with intricate designs on the legs and the back panel. It even had a matching chair.
Spike turned his head and looked at the two pictures propped up against the back of the desk for the umpteenth time. Buffy had gone out the day after their snowball fight and took a Polaroid of the snowman he’d built on a spot of whimsy. She had sought him out that night in order to give the picture to him. She’d even wrote a caption underneath: ‘Bitey, the snowvamp.’
It was the third picture which he had in his hand which was really the problem. Sighing, Spike held it up. It was Buffy, laying in the snow, laughing. Spike doubted the Slayer even remembered that he took it.
"All that time with Dru must have sent me over the bloody edge," Spike mumbled to himself. He set the picture back onto his stomach, and returned his thoughtful gaze to the ceiling.
Buffy sighed and flipped onto her stomach, trying to get comfortable. But it was her mind that was stopping her from sleeping. She was too busy thinking of her mortal enemy.
They’d seen each other off and on since the night of the snowball fight. None of the meetings between the two were ever planned, but Buffy knew that she was always on the lookout for Spike, hoping she’d find him.
"This is really pathetic," Buffy told herself before smashing her face into the pillow and screaming in disgust. "Maybe I’ve been without a boyfriend for too long. Yeah, and Giles loves surfing the Internet."
Giving up on the pretense of sleeping, the Slayer slipped on a pair of sweats and sweatshirt, grabbed a few stakes, then climbed out her window. Jumping lightly to the ground, she started her third patrol of the night.
That’s what Spike had almost convinced himself of as he left his lair. It was rather late in the evening, or early in the morning depending on how one looked at it. He had decided that if he got the chance, he’d have her, then his schoolboy infatuation would go away.
*Right,* Spike thought. *Just keep telling yourself that.*
It was in that frame of mind when Spike ran into the Slayer.
"Spike, hi," Buffy practically gushed. "I didn’t think I’d see you out this close to sunrise."
But instead of responding, Spike yanked Buffy to him and kissed her.
He pushed past her lips and teeth to plunder her mouth with his tongue. He could hear her heartbeat rapidly pounding beneath her skin, calling to him. Weaving a hand into her blond hair, Spike held her close kissing them both senseless.
Buffy moaned and gave into the kiss. This had been what she really wanted to do since Spike had returned to Sunnydale. Allowing no one to come close to her had taken its toll on her. She craved physical contact, which is why she was standing in the middle of the street being thoroughly kissed by her mortal enemy.
Spike finally broke the kiss, letting Buffy catch her breath. Not hesitating, he took her hand and led her back to his place, which was close by.
"Spike, what are you doing?" Buffy asked, being dragged along behind him. He didn’t answer. Pushing open the back door, he pulled the Slayer into his lair and led her to where he had set up home. He let go of her hand only to turn on the light and shed his coat.
"Take off your coat," Spike instructed gruffly. When she didn’t move, he did it for her, jerking the leather over her arms and throwing it to the floor.
"Why are you doing this?" Buffy asked, trembling slightly at his use of force. Was this the end of their truce?
"A reason?" Spike asked. "You want a reason?"
Buffy nodded and looked into his chiseled face.
A light flickered in the depths of his blue eyes. "A reason," Spike repeated in an amused little murmur. "Well, I have a reason for you."
His reason tasted an awful lot like a kiss. Buffy never quite knew when she closed her eyes. She knew simply that one minute she was questioning him and the next she was surrounded by him.
His argument wasn’t a gentle one. Spike pulled her to him so tightly she couldn’t breathe. His hands clutched at her, tangling in Buffy’s hair and holding her to him. His mouth met hers with a bruising hunger.
Spike’s mouth was predatory, nipping, sipping, plucking at her tender skin. He didn’t wait for an invitation to invade, but sought her tongue with hard strokes. Buffy gasped and fought for balance, even in his tight grasp. She arched closer, his body cooling her hot one.
"You want a reason?" Spike grated out, his mouth at her ear, his hand sliding up to cup a breast. "I’m bewitched. Damn it, I know better, but all I’ve been thinking of is doing this."
Lighting splintered in her with his hungry touch, the torment of his hands on her. Buffy’s mind whirled with light and darkness and need. She opened her mouth and kissed Spike’s neck, reveling in the coolness of his skin.
"I’ve tried so hard to stay away," Spike growled into her throat, spilling chills with his tongue. "Taken enough cold showers to drop the bloody water table…"
Buffy nodded, panting, sinking into his touch. "I know…"
"Walked away when no sane man would…"
"I -" his mouth was working lower, tasting her neck and collarbone. "-know…."
Spike moved back, only to divest Buffy of her sweatshirt and bra. Buffy bit her lip as she watched him remove his own shirt.
"I tried being mad at you."
She couldn’t even nod. Spike’s hand had reached out to caress her nipple. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t hold still. But she couldn’t stand up anymore, either.
Somewhere in the depths of his hunger Spike must have heard the desperate note to her voice. Pulling himself together, he held where he was, his hand at her breast, his arm circling her waist.
When he lifted his eyes to hers, Buffy was halted by the volcano she’d unleashed. A molten energy, a voracious thirst that had only flickered in warning before, now glowed from his icy eyes.
Sweeping Buffy into his arms, Spike carried her to the bed and sat down, settling her back against his body onto his lap. "I don’t know what to do with you," he said, his hands lifting once again to her hair. Wrapping his hands in it, lifting it from her neck, he brought his face to hers. "You wouldn’t know a wolf if it bit you."
Buffy wanted to move. She wanted to run far from the pleasure coursing through her body. Instead, she let herself be kissed thoroughly and deeply. Her own hands were on Spike’s shoulders, shoulders like concrete, like tensile steel that bent with terrible pressure.
Their tongues parried and parted. Teeth nipped and tested. Soft groans of hunger mingled and passion built.
"I should let you walk away…while I have a chance…"
Buffy felt Spike’s hand fall again, felt it find her breast and knead it. She pressed into his touch, hungry and aching for him. She twisted in his hold so that she could arch against his cold chest. Her hands began to wander, hungered for the touch of his cool skin. His hands commanded.
"I should make you go…"
Buffy gasped, her head back, as Spike nipped her throat.
"You should shut up," Buffy advised, breathlessly.
Spike chuckled against her throat, a deep growl of pleasure, of surprise and hunger. Buffy pulled his head down to her. He slid a hand down her belly, over her thighs, her knees, his mouth still marking a passage along her throat.
A fire burned in her belly and slid into her legs, following the path of his hands. She arched so that Spike would turn his attention to her aching breasts.
He did, cupping a breast in his hand, weighing it, caressing it. Pleasure tightened in Buffy and she fought for air. Her head fell back, her eyes closed. She felt Spike take her breast in his mouth and she groaned.
Desire flared in her. His tongue stirred it into near frenzy. Buffy felt her legs melting, her limbs shattering. She clutched at him, rocked in his arms, hummed with the surprise of it. She begged him with her hands and her cries and her body, and he answered by slipping his fingers beneath the material of her sweats, seeking out her fire.
Abruptly, Spike pulled away. Buffy stiffened, ready to protest, only to feel herself spun around to face him, to feel her sweats slide from her body and find herself fitted neatly straddling against Spike’s hips.
His pants were gone, too. She didn’t know how he’d done it. She didn’t really care. Her body sang with the proximity. Spike wasn’t smiling. His eyes were fierce and dark and hungry. Buffy shivered with the thrill of it. Angel had always been so tentative and gentle. She craved Spike’s strength. She could feel his arousal against her, full and intimate, and instinctively eased against him. His body glowed in the soft lighting, accenting the shadows and smoothness of his face.
Buffy loved Spike’s body. But more, she loved his face, the handsome planes and steely jaw, the dark flavors of his mouth and the fire in his eyes. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, she found what she’d expected and more. She found an inferno, a hot, living ferocity that threatened to consume her. And knowing that it could, she smiled. She smiled and invited him to do just that.
From that moment grace was lost to hunger, finesse to desire. Spike let his hands loose on Buffy and she answered with her own. She writhed against him, moaning with the agony he incited, seeking more, seeking him. He gasped, growled, cursed as she tormented him.
And when Buffy began to splinter, her body coming apart at the magic of Spike’s greedy fingers, he took her under the arms with hands as strong as their passion and lifted her onto him.
She dug her nails into his back, clutching him as they moved together. Head thrown back, Spike nipped and licked at the long column of her throat. He growled as they came closer to the peak and when Buffy finally went over the edge, she felt Spike follow her, his hand clenching on her waist, bruising her, his voice hoarse and surprised and awed.
Spike held her close, heated skin against cold. The fire of her passage had scorched him, ruining him from ever loving a non-human again, destroying his desire to mate with any other. He wanted Buffy as his own and the coming night he would stake his possession, let the community know that this woman was his and not to be touched.
He chuckled at the thought of how the community would react to his claiming the Slayer. Some would envy him, some would hate him, some would champion him and some would try to kill him. But she was worth it.
"What are you laughing at?" Buffy asked, her head tucked on his shoulder, her breath hot on his cool neck.
"Nothing, Slayer," Spike answered. He stood, still within her, and laid them back on the bed. Spike brought his head back and looked into Buffy’s eyes. He could see desire still burned in their depths. He started moving in her and bent his head to her lips once more. "Nothing at all."
"What are you smiling at?" Willow asked her best friend. They were seated in the cafeteria, playing with what the kitchen claimed to be food.
Buffy had left Spike’s lair barely in enough time get through her window before her alarm. She showered, dressed and gulped down some breakfast, then went to school.
"I’m having a happy," Buffy told her. "School is out for a week after today, vamp activity has been at an all time low, the snow melted and my love life is actually looking perky."
"New hottie on the waterfront?" Willow said.
"Oh, yeah," Buffy said. "Major salty goodness."
"Details!" Willow demanded. "I have to live through you now, so give me all the dirt, no matter how small."
"Oz will come around soon," Buffy told her.
"I know. It’s just…" Willow began, then stopped herself. "Oh, no. You’re not getting me to go there. Uh-huh. Now, details."
Buffy sighed happily. She reached into her purse and dug out the two pictures she carried with her practically everywhere. She passed them to Willow.
"What’s this?" Willow asked. She laughed at the black fangs in the snowman, then at the devil’s tail and crooked halo on the snow angel.
"Me and my honey did the snow angels. He did the one on the right and I did the one with the tail," Buffy said. "That was after we’d pummeled each other with snowballs."
"What about the snowman? Are those really fangs?"
"Yup. I caught him building it," Buffy said. "It was so cute and funny to see Spi…er, a grown man making a snowman."
"How come you didn’t spill sooner?" Willow complained.
"I didn’t think there’d be anything to spill," Buffy said. She blushed.
Willow noticed and pounced. "You didn’t…you did!"
Buffy turned even brighter red and ducked her head. "Will…loud enough?"
Willow squealed with geeker joy. "Was it good? How’d he look? Where did it happen? Was it wonderful? Was…"
Buffy interrupted her. "It was wow," she sighed. "Hard and hot and fierce and passionate. I still have bruises."
Willow bounced in her seat. "Ooh! This is so great!"
"What’s so great?" Xander said, joining his two best friends. He started to eat, but changed his mind when the food seemed to crawl away on its own.
"Oh! Um…Buffy got an ‘A’," Willow lied. "In…uh, health."
"Willow!" Buffy said. But Xander hadn’t noticed, he was too busy playing with his food.
He missed her.
It had only been a few hours since Buffy had left his bed, but Spike missed her with his whole being. Grumbling to himself, he tried to get comfortable. He needed to sleep in order to preserve his strength for the coming night. The night he declared the Slayer as his.
He acknowledged the dangers associated with claiming a human, dangers from predators, dangers from competitors, dangers from the mortal world. But those dangers were nothing compared to the feel of the Slayer’s body beneath his, responding to his touch, craving it as much as he craved hers.
Groaning as his body reacted to his thoughts, Spike gave into the temptation and stroked his hard, cold shaft as he pictured Buffy in the throes of passion as she was that morning.
"Hey, Giles," Buffy said, entering the library after school for training. "Your Slayer is here, ready, willing and able to beat your tweed behind."
"Er…hello, Buffy," Giles said, stepping out of his office. "Before we get started, I-I wanted to let you know that Angel will be in town tonight."
"What for?" Buffy asked, a twinge of pain in her heart.
"He has come across several books for me," Giles told her.
"Why doesn’t he just mail them?" Buffy asked. "Or go the brownie route."
"Um..." Giles said, confused by her words. "They are much too important to rely on the postal service."
Buffy sighed. That would teach her not to say things were going good. "Thanks for the update, Giles. Now, let’s get crackin’ cuz I got a hot date tonight."
"Date?" Giles asked.
"Four letter word, rhymes with late, which is what I’m going to be if we don’t get started," Buffy said, opening the weapons locker and taking out a staff.
"Do you think that it is wise?" Giles said. "After your previous experiences with dating, I mean."
"Chill, Giles," Buffy said. "He’s not going to interfere with my sacred duty, he’s not going to lose his soul and he’s not going to get killed because of me."
"I’m going to get killed because of that bloody girl," Spike swore as he got out of bed. What little sleep he had gotten was plagued with erotic dreams that woke him up with a painful arousal. He made his way into the plush bathroom and stepped into the shower.
As the water coursed over his body, Spike thought back to the last time the Slayer had been claimed. It had given him great delight to try and take her away from his sire. Even when Angelus had come back into the fold, he’d gone after her, succeeding in making a truce to take his sire down. But when he’d come back to Sunnydale, running from his feelings for Drusilla, his sire’s claim on Buffy was still evident.
It wasn’t until Angel had left her here, alone, that Spike had triumphed.
Humans found the concept of possessing another immoral, degrading. With vampires, it was a form of protection and commitment, giving one’s own life for the human involved. Some vampires even claimed another vampire, as Spike did Drusilla after Angelus forfeited her. But he’d lost that claim to his sire once he’d returned.
Snapping out of his reverie, Spike turned off the shower and dressed in his usual black jeans, T-shirt, red button down and boots. With a quick glance to the front of the store, he saw that the sun was down. Sliding on his duster, Spike went in search of something to eat.
Buffy grinned and wiggled her toes. She was lounging in a bubble bath, preparing for what she hoped to be another wow of a night. As much as she loathed to admit it, Spike was a great guy. Her only hang up was that he was a cold blooded killer.
But so was she, if someone wanted to get technical.
She pulled the plug and steeped out of the tub Smiling at herself in the mirror, Buffy began her hair and makeup. She wasn’t going to get too dressed up, after all, she still had to patrol…and her clothes would be coming of anyway.
Humming to herself as she dressed, Buffy wondered what Spike was doing, besides feeding off of the innocent.